Echoes of the Past
by Demara
Summary: A descendent of an alien race nearly destroyed in a Saiyan purging mission comes to Earth to seek vengeace on the remaining Saiyans. Chapter "2" is a complete scene, but I intend to add to it later.
1. Vengeance

Echoes of the Past -- Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DBZ, or anything related to it. However, the events of this story and the new characters I created are from my own imagination, and I ask you to please not steal it in any way or distribute it without asking my permission. 

Echoes of the Past By [Demara][1]

**Prologue - Retribution**

The Saiya-jin's smirk curled his lips into a hideous expression of evil. Flames from the nearby buildings reflected in his eyes, and he seemed like a demon in his own private hell. His black hair spiked to and fro, one piece laying between his eyes and the rest cascading towards his left ear in vicious spikes. 

In the distance, rolling over the hills like thunder, could be heard the great war cry of an Oozaru, soon joined by a chorus of moaning growls. The sun was setting and soon the pale rays of the rising moon would turn this Saiya-jin too into a great monkey. 

In the mean time he busied himself with the natives. A ball of ki grew in his hands, glowing a pale red. A tap on his scouter told him that the people were in one of the buildings nearby. Its roof was only beginning to feel the touch of the flames. With a grin he aimed his ki ball at the structure and shot it off his fingertip. The building exploded on contact, and the barest squeak of a scream was emitted before the voice was silenced as its source evaporated. 

The Saiya-jin laughed. He picked his way through the burning rubble, all the while his tail lashing mischievously about his ankles. He smelled fear; the unmistakable scent of the cold sweat of apprehension. There was something else as well. There was woman. 

He ignored his scouter, preferring for now the chance to hunt. He followed her scent through a crumbling building, and out the other side into the town center. There was a cobbled square, a few forgotten and broken carts of vendors, and a fountain. 

She was so close now, her scent was like a taste in the air, solid and tangible. "Come out, come out, little one..." he teased. "I know you are here..." 

The first rays of the moon reached out their pale fingers, touching his back in a tantalizing, beckoning caress. The hair on his tail stood on end with anticipation. For the moment he ignored the moon's call, and closed his eyes to concentrate on the smell. A smirk curled his lips, and in a moment he seemed to fade out of existence and reappear before a vendor's cart. 

One blow of his hand destroyed it. As the pieces settled his prey could be seen, shivering and pale in the moonlight. She had beautiful golden hair, so reminiscent of the Legendary for so weak a creature. With a malicious grin he grabbed her, lifted her by the throat-   
  
  


Bryce suppressed the chill that ran down his spine as life support began to power down and the medication that kept him asleep during long voyages ceased its steady flow into his bloodstream. His pod had touched ground. Out the viewport he could still make out traces of smoke rising from the scorched hull as it cooled. 

From a side compartment he retrieved his gun and scouter. He held the green lens to his eye for a moment and pressed the button over the ear-piece. Yellow symbols scrolled on screen, accompanied by a beep, then the racing shapes stopped and numbers appeared; the device went silent. 

A grim smile twisted his lips. "Two high power sources, unmistakably alien compared to the rest of the population. It must be the Saiya-jins... The last." Bryce closed his eyes and laid the scouter on his lap, nodding his head in respect. "Kami preserve me in my final hours - watch over me and grant me success in my time of need." 

He opened his eyes and reached for the hatch release. The round pod opened like the seams of a baseball, and he stepped out. His scuffed, worn chest armor shone dully in the sunlight, and his baggy gi pants rustled and shifted with a slight breeze; his blond hair, stiff as an adult Saiya-jin's, did not move. Bryce breathed deep of this new air, taking in the scent of scorched grass and moist earth. It reminded him of home; he pushed those thoughts away. After retrieving his pack and a jagged-edged sword from beneath the seat, he checked the scouter again. 

"Prince Vegeta... You and the last of your race will pay for the lives you've taken and the horrors you have committed. I swear it on my life," Bryce uttered to himself. Then in silence he lifted off the ground and flew in the direction of the power sources he detected. 

   [1]: mailto:demarazare@aol.com



	2. Grueling Preparations

Echoes of the Past

**Disclaimer:** While perusing Dragonball Super Z fiction by their fans, I noticed a story with the same title as this piece. I had already settled on this as the title for this story when I saw it, and was a bit upset/disappointed. I did not steal this title from there, and I highly doubt she would want to steal mine from me. I can only assume that great minds think alike. Here, I hope, the similarity between the two ends; I have not _read_ said piece yet, and don't plan to until I finish this. 

I don't own DBZ, or anything related to it. However, the events of this story and the new characters I created are from my own imagination, and I ask you to please not steal it in any way or distribute it without asking my permission. 

Echoes of the Past **Chapter One - Grueling Preparations**   
By [Demara][1]

Three-hundred and fifty times the usual force of Earth's gravity; it lent the very air so much weight that the red tiled floor cracked and decayed at the edges. Only the emergency lights remained, the others having shattered from the pressure long ago. The faint light cast a surreal color over the interior, giving life-breath to the shadows. 

Through them a figure moved. One moment he was a mere a whisper of the still air. Then he was a panting man glistening with sweat, a body of tense sculpted muscle. He performed an acrobat's dream as he flew and flipped through the air. 

Each movement was fluid from years of repetition. 

A punch. The memory of an orange-skinned alien's flesh buckling under the force behind his fist, eye bulging. A delicate wing of fine bone snapping like dried weeds, sending a shower of feathers to fall like a soft spring rain. 

A kick. A henchman of Frieza doubling over, mouth agape, to reach reflexively with his hands to protect the wound. His foot swinging high, knocking a surprised creature accross the jawline and ear, head spinning so fast the neck snapped. 

The flare of his ki in his hands. Charred rubble, the scent of delicious smoke in his nostrils. A planet lying in unsuspecting peace, then the blue and green globe rupturing and churning with his blow. 

These and a hundred more recollections of foes and victories long gone flickered in his mind as he went to war against the shadows. Each one showed him the errors, the off-timing, the single unstrained muscle. What had sufficed in the past would no longer. 

Vegeta, Saiya-jin no Ouji, was - despite all his skill, training, experience, and grace - still not the best. For this he now braved the intense gravity and fought off exhaustion and collapse as long as possible. 

"Kakarotto," he hissed under his breath. Imagining the goofy third class warrior brought a dark scowl to his face, deepening the lines about the bridge of his nose and forehead. The power that one idiot held was amazing. 

Another kick higher than his shoulder, then a punch low into his invisible enemy's gut. It was becoming easier to move now; less strain on his muscles, less choppy movement. He gave himself a moment's pause to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of one gloved hand. It was singed from ki and one finger poked through. He'd need new ones again. 

"Computer, increase gravity to three seventy-five," he called to the air. The machines in the center of the domed building beeped, then the engines whirred louder a moment. Quickly the pressure rose again. The air pressed down harder on his head, shoulders, and the arm he held outstretched. 

Once again it was a struggle to move against the heavy, compresed air. It was very much similar to a human child wading through water and trying to walk normally. It made him compensate awkwardly a few moments as he experimented with it. Soon his movements began to become smoother again as his finely-tuned body adapted. It was still hard work, of course, but he managed to regain his natural grace. Then the routine began all over again. 

   [1]: mailto:demarazare@aol.com



End file.
